Cage the Elephant
by actualmewtwo
Summary: Mental hospital au. Dean is missing vital parts of his memory, including the death of his father and brother, and most memories from the past 20 or so years of his life. With no one to look after him while he recovers, he's admitted to Two Roads Mental Health Institution. He refuses to accept that his Sam might not be alive and well, and his new roommate is anything but help.
1. Chapter 1

**Quick disclaimer:** Although I have been diagnosed with several mental illnesses, I do not have any of the ones depicted here (besides depressive disorders, experience with suicidal tendencies, self harm, and psychiatric ward environment/care, and secondhand experience with bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, and forms of psychogenic aka dissociative amnesia). I have a great interest in psychology, and I wanted to keep things accurate, so I used actual afflictions.

I've done extensive research on the subject and will continue to do so as I move forward in the story to try to keep it as accurate as possible, while still being applicable to the characters. However, I recognize that my portrayals of these disorders can only hold true to the extent of information from my psychology textbooks/articles from medical associations' websites that I've gathered. If you have any of these conditions or experiences with them, please feel free to share if you're comfortable, especially if you feel I'm mischaracterizing any of them, so I can continue to try to keep them as realistic as possible.

I want to make sure I don't cast a false image of any of these disorders and give someone a wrong impression or potentially hurt someone's feelings, because I want to honor the fact that these are real afflictions people suffer from and not some plot device or personality quirk. If you start to get that feeling, please please please let me know so I can correct it, because I don't want to hurt or offend anyone or delegitimize/mischaracterize a mental illness.

Thank you, and enjoy.

* * *

><p>A man was in a hospital. He did not know how he got there.<p>

A doctor was asking him questions. Her voice sounded distant and muffled, and his head pounded. His name, she wanted to know his name. He did not remember his name. He did not remember much at all.

Another doctor entered. This one asked about the man's state, if she had found anything out. She said the man was unresponsive.

"Sir?" The new doctor asked. "Do you know where you are?"

The man looked up. He tried to focus on the new doctor's words.

"What do you remember?" He asked.

The man thought about that hard, then a panic rose up inside him and poked at his skin like needles.

"My brother." He said, realization dawning. "My brother, where's my brother?! _Where is he? WHERE'S SAMMY?!_"

His voice had risen to an angry shout. He stood up, and the doctor called into the hallway. Nurses rushed in and restrained him as he tried to advance toward the doctor. He thrashed about, trying to break free.

"SAM! _WHERE'S SAMMY?! __**WHERE'S MY BROTHER?!**_"

A sharp pain pierced his thigh. He felt consciousness slip away from him, and his own shouts for his brother sounded far away. They got quieter, quieter, quieter…

When he reawoke his wrists were strapped to the sides of a hospital bed. He felt even blearier than before.

"Oh, good, you're up."

His attention was directed to the same female doctor from earlier.

"Where the hell am I?" He asked.

"You're at St. George's Hospital, in Kansas City. Do you remember arriving here?"

"Where's my brother?" He repeated, trying to avoid the fact that he did not.

The doctor pursed her lips very slightly, but the man noticed.

"What all do you remember?"

"I have a brother. His name is Sammy."

"Do you remember the last time you saw him?"

"We were here. Sammy is sick." The man was confused. That was the last time he remembered seeing him, but they were both children in his memory. The man was very aware that he was not a child. He must just be confused, hit his head too hard or something.

The doctor was silent for a few moments. "We found some records of you. Your name is Dean Winchester. You're from Kansas City. You live in a house by yourself and work at a small mechanics shop. Does this all sound right?"

It sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite recall any specific memories. Dean Winchester? Yes, that had to be it, because his brother was Sam Winchester. He must be Dean.

"I don't live by myself. I live with Sam."

"You're suffering from retrospective amnesia. You were in a car crash about a year ago with your adopted father Bobby Singer. Do you remember him?"

The name felt like a small bell being struck in his head, but he had no memory of a car crash. "Yeah, Bobby. He brought us here. Where is he?"

The doctor continued on, purposefully disregarding the last sentence. Dean was annoyed, he just wanted to see his family.

"We think that your brain sustained some small damage from the crash that went unnoticed, but some environmental psychological factor triggered your global-transient amnesia. We ran an fMRI scan and EEG to confirm, and are waiting on results. Until then, you'll be staying in a specialized hospital a few miles from here. While your amnesia is still in effect we can't have you out and about on your own, especially if it turns out to be a form of psychogenic amnesia and not brain trauma."

"I won't be on my own. I'll have Sam and Bobby. And I know 'specialized hospital' is just your nice little way of saying nuthouse, and I ain't crazy, so I'm gunna have to pass up your offer. Sorry."

"Dean…" She said gently. "We were going to wait until you were in a better state to tell you, but Bobby died in that car crash. Sam Winchester hasn't been alive for many years, he died of pneumonia when he was 11. You weren't driven here, a co-worker called you in missing after you hadn't shown up for a week and the police found you wandering a road in the woods on your own, then brought you here. I'm sorry."

Dean tried to process this. She must be mistaken, Sam and Bobby were fine. Bobby was too tough to die in something so stupid, and Sam couldn't die of just _sickness._ He was weak growing up, sure. Bobby didn't have a lot of money to raise them after their parents died, so sometimes they would go a while without much food, but Sammy was a fighter to his bones. He was strong. The doctor was wrong, Sam was okay. Bobby was okay. He was okay. He shouldn't be here.

"I shouldn't be here." He repeated the last thought out loud.

"I'm sorry, but you're not collected enough and missing too much information to be trying to function by yourself. But you can get help at the hospital, okay? Once we narrow down what exactly it is you're suffering from for certain, we can treat you appropriately and hopefully return you to stability and help you restore your memory."

"And I don't get any kind of choice in the matter?"

"Unfortunately, no. When it comes to the case of more severe mental conditions that impair daily functioning too much, resident psychologists get the final word. With no one outside to monitor you, it's not safe"

Dean sighed. He wanted to argue more, to demand he be taken to his brother, but he was already in restraints and didn't wanted to be muzzled, or whatever the hell it was they did to you when you didn't cooperate. Seething with anger, he remained silent after that as the doctor went on about transportation and dates and psychiatrists.

He spent the night at the hospital while arrangements were made, and the next day was carted over to Two Roads Mental Health Institution. Of course, that just read as "Insane Asylum" to Dean, so he dragged his feet as much as he could, dressing and moving along as slowly as possible to bug the orderlies sent to retrieve him.

He checked in, his belongings (several plaid shirts, a leather jacket, jeans, a pocket knife, car keys, steel-toed boots, a phone) were rifled through and packed away, and he was loaded onto an elevator and rocketed up two floors. It was all so systematic and procedural, it pissed him off. It made him feel like he was being sent to a sterile prison for a crime he didn't commit. He was so angry and confused at everything and anything, he wanted to punch a wall or break a lamp or flip a table, do something with his rage so he wouldn't have to sit there with it bubbling inside him like a pot about to spill over. Normally he'd just drink til the pain washed over, but something told him that wouldn't be an option here.

He was led through a large living room-type area with furniture and a tv where patients were chatting and relaxing, then down a hallway lined with doors on either side fixed with small glass windows that allowed view of the interiors.

"This is going to be your room." The orderly stated as they stopped in front of a door. "Your roommate's already in there. He doesn't leave his room except when he has to and doesn't really talk to anyone. I hear you've already caused some trouble, so you two should get along fine. Try not to start anything."

Dean stepped inside and chuckled as he watched the door swing shut. "All about warm greetings here, huh?" He remarked sarcastically before turning to face his new roommate.

He couldn't help but feel startled by him. He sat meekly on the edge of his bed, hands clasped and head bent, long golden-brown messy hair draped around his face. He looked up at Dean, startled, almost like he'd been jolted suddenly from a nightmare. He looked so small and scared, but as he rose to meet Dean he could see the dude was freaking _huge. _6'3, maybe 6'4 at least. He had to be younger than Dean by a few years, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Poor kid looked like he'd been through hell.

"Oh, that's just Davidson. He's like that, don't worry about him." His voice was gravelly and rough but still gentle, and as Dean got a better look at him, he could see how gaunt and thin he really was. Part of him was irritated that he would be locked up with someone out of their mind, but then he felt horrible and immediately regretted even having the thought. It wasn't the guy's fault, and he must be going through some serious shit. In fact, his main urge at the moment was to try and comfort him.

He looked nervous and scared of Dean's presence, so Dean put on the widest and most welcoming smile he could. "I'm Dean, Winchester."

"Sam Wesen."

Dean stared, the smile dropping slowly from his face. Sam was the only part he registered, his brain stopped processing after that. There he was. Right there. All grown up, maybe, but there. He knew they were lying, he knew it. His brother was here. _His brother was here. _

"Sam…" He said in a half-whisper, lighting up. "Sammy!" He strode forward and embraced his brother tightly. "I knew you were a fighter. Always have been, always will be." He smiled and squeezed the hug tighter joyously. Sam was so frail that Dean was almost worried he'd break him. But that's why he was here, in the hospital. Sammy was sick.

Sam had yet to respond, but he didn't care. He had his brother, and that was all that mattered.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam was surprised, to say the least.

But still he found himself raising his arms to return the embrace. It had been so long since he'd had positive physical contact with anyone, let alone a _hug. _So, so, _so_ long. He never wanted to let go. He swallowed hard before speaking.

"Dean…?" He asked quietly, tentatively.

"It's not him." The wretched voice chimed in.

"Yeah. Yeah, Sammy, it's me."

"It's not him and you know it, why are you kidding yourself?"

_I know. I know, okay? Just shut up._

"Awwww, little Sammy is trying to have a heartfelt moment with his brave, heroic, long-lost brother. News flash, Leia, _your brother's still dead. _The idiot's as nuts as you, otherwise why the hell would he be here?"

"_I know." _ Sam growled aloud.

"What?" Dean asked.

"No, nothing." He said quickly before nuzzling his face into Dean's neck and squeezing his eyes shut. Maybe this _was_ fake. Maybe he was in hell for causing his brother's death, like Lucifer said. But if this was an illusion, then it was the happiest yet, and he wasn't going to let anything stop him from taking advantage of it.

Dean finally pulled back, to his disappointment. He met Sam's eyes lovingly, practically glowing with joy. Sam returned the gesture with ease, to his own surprise. He had a hard time maintaining eye contact with people, it made him feel like he was exposed, judged. But with not-Dean, he instead felt comforted and loved. He would have enjoyed it, if not for the overwhelming guilt from his lie of omission and the looming reality of Dean's inevitable hatred of him when he realizes that Sam is not who he believes him to be. But having a brother is too good a fate for Sam anyway, he decided. He didn't deserve it. Nor did he deserve the warmth he was receiving now, however short-lived. Lucifer giggled from his place on Sam's bed.

There was a soft knock on the door. It cracked open and a red-headed nurse poked her head in, carrying a tray of food. "Lunch time, Sam!" She said cheerily, grinning a sparkling smile.

Sam returned it, pleased to see his favorite nurse. "Hey, Charlie."

"Who's this?" She said as Dean looked her over.

"Dean Winchester." His roommate said, introducing himself. "I'm his brother."

Charlie's smile fell slightly. She knew what really happened to Sam's brother, it was the reason he was here. She looked at him with concern.

"He is my brother." Sam confirmed with conviction in his voice. Until the time came that Dean realized the truth, they were brothers as far as Sam was concerned.

"Digging yourself in pretty deep there, Sammy boy." Lucifer scrunched his shoulders and wrinkled his nose, feigning excitement. "Ooooh, watching this all crumble down will be _amazing. _I should grab popcorn. How long do you think it'll take until he starts to hate you? Or do you think they'll move you to your own room again for 'unhealthy behavior' first? I hope so, then we can have some _real _fun without some random jerk butting in."

"Sammy? Helloooooooo?" Dean said, waving his hand in front of Sam's face and snapping him back into attention. He and Charlie were both staring at him expectantly, they must have asked him something, but he had been listening to Lucifer. Embarrassment rose like a swarm of flies under his skin and heated his cheeks. He was making a bad impression on Dean, he knew it. God, he knew the guy two minutes and he messed it up. He couldn't even do this right, he was just a fucking freak who couldn't-

"Sam! Hey, we were wondering if since it's Dean's first day, maybe you would want to help show Dean to the cafeteria? I know you don't like leaving your room, but maybe a little walk with your new friend would be nice?" Charlie suggested empathetically, likely repeating herself for him. She knew how much trouble he had, and unlike other orderlies who for the most part just ignored him, she did everything she could to make Sam more comfortable. This includied bringing him food every day so he didn't have to eat in front of others, even if the food rarely ended up getting eaten at all. He was endlessly grateful for her.

He looked at Dean, who was smiling at him welcomingly. These people were too good for him. Nevertheless, Dean's presence was encouraging, and it filled him with a sense of bravery.

"Uh, if... If it's okay, I think maybe I'll eat in the cafeteria today."

Charlie beamed at him enthusiastically. She looked so excited that Sam was sure she'd be clapping her hands if not for the tray.

"Sam, that's wonderful! Here, take this, I'll go make sure a table stays clear for you, so you can have some space." She handed Sam the tray and bounced out of the room.

"She always like that?" Dean asked, watching her practically skip away before turning to Sam.

"Yeah." He chuckled. "So I'll just, uh…" He motioned awkwardly at the door, then led the way outside and through the hall as Dean followed.

"Why don't you eat in the cafeteria?" The man asked from beside him.

Sam chose not to answer.

"Okay, then what was that back there? You just kinda zoned out for a while."

"It's not…" He sighed. "It's complicated."

"Okay, you don't want to talk about it, I get it, but you gotta tell me eventually Sammy. I want to know what's up with my little brother. Promise?"

"Alright."

When they entered the cafeteria, a nervous tension pulled at Sam's stomach. He had forgotten how many people there were. His heart started racing and he started to hyperventilate. This was a bad idea, he shouldn't have done this. But now Dean and Charlie were expecting him and he was going to let them down, he was such a failure, he-

An arm wrapped around his shoulders and stroked him comfortingly.

"Sam, you wanna go sit back down?" Came Dean's worried voice. "You're looking a little pale there, buddy."

"No. No, I'm fine, let's just go find Charlie."

The aforementioned orderly was leaning against a table in the back. Sam situated himself there and watched as Dean retrieved their labeled trays of food from the cart (Charlie had put Sam's back so it would stay warm). He could feel Charlie inspecting him.

"Sam…" She said concernedly, surely about to lecture him on the supposed misconception. He looked down at the table and scratched the surface lightly with his thumbnail to occupy his attention during her pause and avoid having to look at her. She hadn't spoken for a few moments yet, where was his admonishment?

He looked up at her, and watched her demeanor change to a lighter one as she apparently decided against whatever refusal of condonement she had been about to administer.

"I'm really proud of you for coming out to eat today! I know it's hard for you, and I'm glad Dean's helping. Just, remember not to use him as a crutch forever, okay? I'm sure you don't want codependent personality disorder added to your list, too." She joked. She had a habit of trying to make things comedic when they were too heavy or stressful, Sam had noticed.

Dean returned to the table carrying the trays like a waiter, adapting a gait of much the same kind. He slid the tray down in front of Sam and lifted the lid theatrically, revealing the bowl of beef stew and green beans as one would a gourmet meal.

"_Bon appetit_," he said in a laughably exaggerated French accent. Sam couldn't help but smile.

"Alright," Charlie giggled. "I have to get back to work, you two have fun."

"Thank you." Sam responded in his sincerest tone.

"Yeesh." Dean said after Charlie had walked away, examining his food. He had a limp gray burger on thin buns with pale cheese melted over it. "Didn't know the burgers would look like this when I ordered 'em. We gotta fill those forms out every time, by the way?"

"Yeah. I usually don't, though. If you do that they just give you whatever." Sam didn't care what he got really, the food almost always wound up uneaten or regurgitated into the toilet not long after.

"Oh well, least the potatoes look okay."

There was a lull in the conversation as they dug into their respective meals. Sam devoured as much of his food as ravenously as he could before Lucifer could do something to it. Where was he, anyway?

Sam scanned the room. This was a rare occurrence, you'd think he'd be there to ruin it. He saw many faces looking back at him. Everyone knew who he was, he'd been at the hospital the longest. They knew this was unusual. He looked back at his meal, trying to ignore their stares and the prickling in his spine it caused. Anxiety started to grow in his chest, and he could feel panic falling over him again. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths as unnoticably as he could to calm down. He hated the feeling of exposure that came with leaving his room. At least there, he could deal with his problems without being watched and judged by the people he was forced to share a space with.

"So by the way Charlie was acting, some'n tells me you don't come down here all that often."

"Not really, no."

"When's the last time you ate here?"

"Dunno. Couple months, a year maybe. Promised a friend I would. "

Dean's brow furrowed. "How long you been here, exactly?"

"Uh...I haven't been keeping track all that well." Sam squirmed a little. "10, 15 years?"

Dean's eyes widened. "Damn." He fell silent, a thoughtful and conflicted look muddling his features. Either he was losing trust in Sam, coming to the realization that you have to be _seriously _fucked up to need to stay here this long, or he was starting to figure out the chronological fallacies in his whole "you're my baby brother Sammy" story. Sam left him to it, resuming his search for his facetious companion.

"Who're you looking for?" He asked after a couple of seconds.

"No one." Sam lied. Dean turned around to look at the other patients with him.

"Okay, so who the hell is that guy who keeps staring at me like I just shot lasers out of my ass?" He said irritatedly. Sam followed his line of sight.

"Judging by the posture of a nun, owl eyes, and trenchcoat, probably Cas."

Dean looked at Sam questioningly.

"Cas, Castiel. He's got Multiple Personality Disorder. He thinks he's angel, too, so look out for that I guess."

"So who's riding shotgun, then?"

"Jimmy Novak. I haven't talked with him all that much, but he seems like an okay guy. Cas is perfectly nice too, we're good friends, don't get me wrong, but he's kinda off-putting sometimes. I mean, he's here for a reason."

"The multiple personalities aren't enough of a prerequisite?"

"I guess he kept beating up and stabbing people who he disagreed with."

"Jeez, so like some kinda evangelical shit?"

"No, actually it was racists and bigots and stuff like that. Said they were 'going against the will of the Lord by disrespecting their fellow man.'"

Dean grinned and looked back at Cas, who returned the smile with wide and bright eyes. It was unsettling, in an endearing sort of way. Sam waved him over.

"Woah, hey, what're you doing that for?"

"I haven't seen him at lunch in a long time, I want to catch up."

"Sammy, he stabs people."

"He's not going to stab _us. _Besides, he's my friend and he'll probably want to meet you."

Dean sighed and put his hand on his forehead as if rubbing an itch, but he was clearly just shielding his eyes so he didn't have to look at Castiel as he sat down next to him.

"Hey, Cas." Sam said warmly, trying to make up for Dean's rudeness.

"Hello, Sam. I've only seen you in here once before, is this a special occasion?"

"Yeah! Cas, this is my brother, Dean. He's my new roommate, too. Dean, this is Cas." He put a prompting tone in his address to Dean, simultaneously kicking him under the table to get him to look up from his food.

"But I thought your brother was-"

Sam cut Cas off with a stern glare. The pseudo-angel returned to him a look of confoundment.

"So, uh, 'Castiel'", Dean said, over-enunciating the syllables somewhat mockingly. "How long have you been here?"

"Five months, two weeks, 21 days, and-" He leaned to the side to get a view of the clock on the wall around someone's head. "18 hours."

"Jesus…" said Dean.

"No, my name is Castiel, remember?" He looked Dean over. "But I suppose if you are Sam's friend, you may call me Cas as well."

Dean smiled sarcastically. "Thanks."

Cas smiled back, genuinely. "You are welcome. I am happy to extend my friendship to you."

"Do you hang out a lot, or are you like his stalker or something?" he joked.

"Of course not, Sam is my friend! We spend a lot of time together during recreational periods. If Sam did not like me I would leave him alone."

"Really? Cause you don't seem that great at reading signals, buddy."

"I am excellent at understanding nonverbal direction, what does that have to do with this?"

Sam went back to his stew as the two continued on. Besides the bickering and the fact that Dean seemed uncomfortable with how close Cas was sitting (which, in all fairness, was _very _close), they seemed to like each other kind of okay. At least, Cas liked Dean, he never took to anyone that fast. Even with Sam, who seemed to be the only one he really spent time with, it took a small while to warm up to each other. And he was on good grounds with Jimmy, too, which was-

A violent stench hit Sam, and he looked down to see his spoonful of stew was greenish, filled with mysterious chunks, and saw that the rest of the bowl was the same. It took him a good half-second to register. It was _vomit. _

Repulsed and horrified, he dropped his spoon in surprise and it hit the bowl with a clatter. He clasped his hand over his mouth and took rapid breaths, trying to hold back his own half-digested food rising in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to swallow his vomit back down and block out the vile smell consuming his senses, heart pounding from the surprise.

"Sam?" Cas asked tentatively. Oh god, they were watching him. What must they think of him? They had no idea what was going on. He was in a mental hospital and he still managed to make himself look crazy, that must deserve some kind of an award.

He could feel the awkward silence around him. He wanted it to go away. Why couldn't they argue more? He liked that. He just wanted them to _stop staring._

"Do you want to back to our room, Sam?" said Dean, and Sam thanked him silently and as gratuitously as one would a godsent. He nodded feverishly and let Dean help him stand up. He opened his eyes briefly to see Cas watching him worriedly with those huge blue eyes. He closed them again when he realized Cas wasn't the only one watching.

Sam refused to move his hand from his mouth or look up as Dean led him back to their room, hoping he remembered the way. He kept his hands on Sam the whole time, the touch reassuring and grounding to him while the world swam from the mounting stress. He heard the familiar laughter coming from the back of his mind somewhere of his absentee abuser.

Dean stopped, why did he stop? An orderly was talking to them. He couldn't focus on them, the room was spinning and everyone was staring at them and he was going to throw up and he was sweating and hyperventilating and cold and his heart was beating so fast and he _really _needed to throw up and _**everyone was staring.**_

He looked up at Dean, then to the orderly, both of whom were still arguing. He must have looked pathetic enough, because the orderly let Dean continue escorting him back to their room. As soon as they arrived, Sam ran to the bathroom and doubled over the toilet, lunch making a reappearance. Dean patted his back and left, shutting the door behind him for Sam's privacy. After several flushes and what felt like an eternity later, he was finally reduced to dry heaving and had a moment to breathe.

"That wasn't funny."

"Come on, _I _hardly did anything. You're the one that had to be rushed out of there like a toddler who had an accident in public. And in all fairness, it _was _pretty hilarious."

"If it was all my fault, then why did you do anything at all?"

"To remind you that Skywalker's too good for you."

"You already made a Star Wars joke."

"I know, but it's still funny 'cause they kiss."

Sam sighed.

"Look, I know all this already and I can fuck things up with him on my own just fine without you butting in."

There was a soft knock on the door. "You alright in there, Sammy?"

Sam glanced at Lucifer, who was smirking. "He still doesn't know how crazy you are yet, isn't that adorable?"

"Sam?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." He eased himself to his feet and ambled towards the door. Lucifer stuck out his lower lip in a pout.

"Awww, gone so soon? Oh well. See you after medication time tomorrow, and drink plenty of water. Makes the pills come back up easier."

Dean was sitting on his bed on the right side of the room next to the door of the bathroom. How much had he heard?

"Hey, you still look really shaky there, buddy, why don't you sit down?" He said, patting the bed. Sam seated himself next to him and crossed his arms in front of his stomach. They both were silent. Dean was looking at him.

"Listen, Sa-"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Dean shut his mouth, and after a pause put a hand on Sam's shoulder and started again.

"Sam, whatever you're sick with-"

"I'm not sick."

"Then, whatever it is you're going through, whatever happens to either of us, we'll always be brothers, okay? And whatever you need to feel better, if it's company or space or anything else, tell me. I want to help you, and I want you to be happy."

Sam bent his head, holding back tears. He might not be _his _Dean, but _damn _they were similar. Could've fooled him easy. Dean was worthy of so much better than him, and Sam was going to let him down so hard when he realized. It was killing him.

"Dean, listen...I'm…" He sighed, straightened himself, looked Dean in the eye, and tried to brace himself. "I don't know what happened to your Sam, but I'm not...My brother died a long time ago, and his name was Dean too, but he's not you. And I'm not the Sam that's related to you. And as much as I appreciate you and everything you're doing for me, I can't live with myself accepting it while you think I'm something I'm not. I know you're missing a lot of your memory, but-"

"Who told you that?" Sam flinched at the anger in his voice, on his face. He shrunk back. Dean noticed and forcibly softened his demeanor.

"I asked before you got here. I guess normally they don't share that stuff, but since I've been here for so long most of the orderlies are pretty friendly with me."

Dean was quiet. Sam was frightened. He wasn't sure whether or not to keep talking, so decided to stay on the cautious side and shut up. After some time of staring at Sam in thought wordlessly, Dean stood up and stretched.

"I'm gunna go find Cas and let him know you're okay," He said, speaking as if no interaction had taken place. "Guy looked pretty spooked. The little schedule thing they gave me says I got art period in a couple minutes, so I gotta head to that too. Rest up, Sammy. Don't want my little brother too worn out."

Sam watched in exasperation as Dean left the room, at a complete loss for what to do.

"He's kind of an enormous idiot." said Lucifer.

Sam tilted his head to the side in consideration and nodded in forfeited agreement.

* * *

><p>Sam was allowed a couple hours of sleep by the devil that night, as was the case every few days, just enough to keep him alive. Dean went straight from art to dinner, and as Sam had no inclination to leave his room after his breakdown at lunch, he went to bed before Dean got back.<p>

He was startled from his rest every half hour or so, not from Lucifer waking him up, but from his own horrid nightmares. On these nights, once the dreams ended he usually only remembered them as brief flashes of images, but they would always stick with him for hours after. That particular night, Sam's guilt caught up with his subconscious. Vivid images flashed in his mind again and again, the used needles, mostly his, littering the ground. The unknown filth that smelled of sweat and disease that stuck to his skin while he slept. The pungent stench of the rotting carcass. The still, pale skeletal figure lying lifeless on the ground. The rats that burrowed inside and ate and bred and ripped apart the flesh and body that once loved him and cared for him and died for him and called him family when no one else would. The rats that took all that was left of him, the rats that stole what was not theirs. He couldn't sleep, not while they were there and hungry, or they would eat him too. He could still hear them, squeaking and swarming like a writhing mass of filth and infection, and they dug and ran chewed him up when he started to doze off. They bit and scratched and tore. It hurt, it hurt so bad, he let his guard down and they tried to take him too, because it was all his fault. They were still there, still biting, he could feel them, it was all his fault, _it was all his fault, he did this to him, _they nipped and tore and ravaged and swarmed and _ate him up because it was __**his fault**__._

Sam was jolted from his sleep shouting. They were on his chest, they knew what he did, they were back for him, they were all around him biting at every exposed piece of skin and crawling under his clothes to get at his organs and muscle. He thrashed wildly, trying to throw them off and hit them, but he wasn't able to make contact with any of them. They moved and regrouped too fast. He sat up and tried to brush them off, but it was no use, they were already digging into him too deep to dislodge. Dean was calling his name, panicked, asking if he was okay.

"_I'm sorry_," he cried out, scratching violently at the rats, desperately trying to detach them as the excruciating pain radiated from every deepening wound. He wrapped his arms around himself and tucked his body into a ball to protect himself from the onslaught. "_**I'M SORRY!**_"

"_SAM!" _

Strong hands grabbed his shoulders and jerked them. Sam refused to unfurl himself. The grip lightened and the hands stroked downward. The rats' grip lightened with them, but they still squeaked loudly and swam around him.

"Sammy." The deep voice had been lowered to just above a whisper, he could hardly hear it above the deafening rodents. Sam tightened his fetal position. The bed indented as Dean sat down in front of him. He said nothing.

They sat wordlessly for awhile, Sam trying to drown out the scurrying, screeching sounds slowly lowering in volume with the throbbing in the bites covering him all over. There was a light pat on his knee, causing him to flinch. The bed moved with the lifting of weight and the bathroom door was opened and shut, followed by the sound of running water. Sam lifted his head and spread his limbs slowly, cramped from maintaining their position. His skin was clear of any injury, save for his self-inflicted bleeding scratches, showing no sign of the rats ever having been there. He laid back down facing the wall, wanting to sleep but knowing what would happen if he did. He stared off into space for some time while Dean was in the bathroom, trying to keep his thoughts quiet. He managed to drift into a state of undisturbed half-sleep.

The last thing Sam registered before falling back into his dream-ridden rest was the sound of hushed footsteps and the homely yet unfamiliar sensation of a blanket being draped over him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: <strong>sorry for the delay, i haven't had a lot of writing time between art class and family drama, and the time i do have i've been devoting to my Art of Deception fic (which you should read. shameless self-promotion).

also, brief explanation of the title because i realized it's not super apparent. Cage the Elephant is a band most famous for their song Ain't No Rest for the Wicked, referencing Sam's sleep deprivation situation. also, elephants are said to never forget anything, so the name itself references Dean's memory loss and of course his feeling of being "caged". hope that clears things up.

i appreciate any comments i get, especially compliments and constructive criticism, so anything you have to say is well appreciated! thank you!


	3. Guess who's back, back (back again)

Hey guys!

I know it's been quite some time. The past year or so has been a series of intermittent "Oh shit, remember that one fic? I liked that idea, You should really write more"s followed by forgetting about it instantly. However, this one has stayed on my mind. I ended up stopping because I really don't like how I paced the second chapter and need to rewrite it, but haven't worked up the energy to do so.

Most unfortunately, now that I have the energy and reinvigorated enthusiasm, I don't have much time between school and work and appointments. Nevertheless, I've made a vow to continue this as soon as possible (probably this weekend) so I can progress the story, flex my atrophied creative writing muscles, and hopefully flaunt a more competent and matured writing sensibility (lol I'm fucking with you expect a lot of dick jokes).

Long story short, I'll be rewriting the second chapter and probably changing the first a bit, hopefully taking a less hyperactive approach to getting from scene to scene. In addition, I may be changing a few crucial plot points/pieces of background information. Once everything is re-uploaded and I've reminded myself how to use this heckin site, I'd recommend rereading both chapters so nothing is confusing (if anyone is even still following this story, heh).

PS- As for the Art of Deception, I have no clue whether or not I'll be working on that in the forseeable future. You'll just have to stay tuned [irritating winking face emoticon]


End file.
